


Etched

by flying_pupitre



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, time jumps, twice shy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flying_pupitre/pseuds/flying_pupitre
Summary: "Adil had learned a lot of things during war. How to tie a tourniquet. How to comfort a dying man. And Toby Hamilton, it seemed, had learned perseverance."





	Etched

It’s actually Lord Hamilton who finds him first on a balmy day in August, 1946. It is completely by happenstance, though not too farfetched that he would eventually walk through the ornate doors of the Savoy. Adil didn’t realize initially, not until he felt that strange sensation of being watched, and glanced up to Freddie’s eyes struggling to place his face. He ignores that immediate whirl of dread, and goes about his task as he’s supposed to, mixing a drink for a woman who keeps irritatingly trying to touch his hand. Freddie does recognize him eventually, and strides over to greet him genially and simultaneously save him from the other patrons. Freddie is delighted to see him, pleased Adil is doing well. He inquires after his health, his family, the usual sort of things a person one barely knows inquires about. The conversation is brief, congenial. Freddie is recently married, he and Emma are doing well. They very much enjoyed their brief holiday in the Scotland, wished they could have stayed longer but the Halcyon is difficult to stay away from. They exchange a few more pleasantries while Adil fixes his drink, and Freddie rejoins his friends while Adil slumps against the bar, hands trembling slightly. Freddie didn’t mention Toby or anyone else really, and Adil didn’t ask.

\--

Not a week later Toby turns up. Adil’s back had been to the bar and when he turned around he’d nearly dropped the glass he’d been cleaning. He’s lucky; at the Savoy they docked pay for every little thing a staff member broke.

Some things feel familiar. Toby still looks slightly awkward, pale, but his face is determined, calm. While Adil can’t seem to find the words, wrings his hands a little, Toby smiles at him warmly, seems genuinely happy to see him. He’s steady, Adil registers dimly. He’s steady in a way Adil’s never really seen before. But Toby had time to prepare for this, he didn’t.

“When Freddie told me I could scarcely believe it. How are you?”

Adil honestly didn’t think he’d be high enough on Freddie’s list to warrant a mention in casual conversation but maybe what Mr. Garland had been saying for years about the Halcyon folk being like family ended up being at least little true. He’s still fumbling through words, his usual grace and dignity somehow failing him in the moment. He realizes Toby is still waiting for a response. He murmurs that he’s fine, asks Toby how he’s been. Another customer calls for his attention, and he’s grateful for the chance to collect himself. When he returns to Toby he does feel more or less fine, and can successfully field questions about how he’s getting along at the Savoy. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the concierge eyeing him, they aren’t encouraged to engage with the clientele like this.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks quickly, before the concierge can take notes on his lackluster performance.

“Have dinner with me. Please.”

For a moment Toby looks regretful, like he can’t believe himself and Adil is so shocked he doesn’t even think he’d heard right. Toby flushes, fiddles with his signet ring. Adil feels like he should refuse. None of it could end well really. He opens his mouth to politely decline but finds himself, perhaps against his better judgement, agreeing to dinner on Wednesday night at 8 pm. Toby is still fretting so he’s forced to repeat his affirmation twice.

\--

What had happened was this. In May 1941 Adil and Tom had enlisted together, duty to country and all that. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Toby yet, and was planning on telling him later that evening. As he’d packed up his things, Mr. Garland called him in to speak to him personally, eyes kind. He told Adil he’d be terribly missed, that if he ever wanted the Halcyon would always be here for him.

“As long as you aren’t running away.” Mr. Garland had said, reaching out to shake Adil’s hand.

“Pardon?” Adil managed, momentarily startled.

Adil could never be sure how much Mr. Garland really knew. All he could say for certain was that Toby asked for his help, and Mr. Garland never pried for the actual details about Toby’s sordid personal life.

“I’d tell Mr. Hamilton.”

“Lord Hamilton.”

“Yes, I believe that’s what I meant.” Mr. Garland uttered, holding Adil’s eyes carefully for a second before returning to his paper work.

Toby hadn’t been angry, but looked instantly aged, weary. Adil emphasized it had nothing to do with him, or them, but that he wanted to do his bit for his country. Toby couldn’t argue with that, nearly a war hero himself, and things always seemed like they were going from bad to worse on the front lines. Adil wondered if somewhere deep inside it had also crossed Toby’s mind that this could be for the best. Things were mostly good between them, but there was always an underlying strain. Even though they’d reaffirmed their love for each other the night the hotel was bombed, Adil couldn’t help but feel uneasy. It was increasingly more difficulty to be careful, to keep stealing moments whenever they could. When Sonny teased him about having a secret girlfriend it had occurred to him that even if he loved Toby to the ends of world the threat of someone using him to get to Toby would always exist. Mr. D’Aberville was dead, but it could just as easily be anyone else. Toby was wealthy and he held the most important secrets in his hands. Either of these things could draw an evil eye.

For much longer than expected Adil buried the fear, let himself get lost in Toby whispering _I love you_ against his forehead one morning, Toby pressing him into the darkened wall of a supply closet and sliding his tongue along Adil’s lower lip another afternoon. But he had still sold Toby out. The palpable terror persisted that he was never going to be the man Toby needed or deserved.

\--

Dinner is unexpectedly pleasant. They’d picked a place that was near Adil’s flat, inexpensive but still nice. Adil looks at the dim light, flowers in the window and thinks maybe in some other lifetime this could have been a date. He notes immediately that Toby looks sharp, finally having invested in clothes that fit better. He doesn’t dare believe it’s for him, there was so reason to even entertain the thought. It’s a little awkward at first, but after the first glass of wine it gets easier, and soon they’re able to let go and enjoy themselves a little. It’s sort of like before. Toby talks a lot, while Adil listens, rapt, enjoying how Toby enunciates everything with his hands. Toby’s started a doctoral program in theoretical maths at Oxford right after war ended, and he’s been enjoying it immensely. He doesn’t come home often any more, as Freddie and his mother can manage the hotel by themselves. Plus he’s often very busy with his studies.

“The Halcyon just doesn’t really feel like home anymore.” He admits, with a sheepish smile at Adil.

Adil understands that. He’d discovered that very sentiment long before Toby had. They carry on, fastidiously avoiding anything too far back. Adil divulges just enough, briefly mentions war. He’s happy to let Toby ramble on about school, his second glass of wine making him feel warm, languid as he observes Toby in the soft golden glow. The light softens Toby’s features, makes his green brown eyes shine. He’s happy, Adil discerns, more sure of his place in the world. It’s sort of beautiful to see, helps him believe that he didn’t somehow permanently fuck up the younger by two minutes Hamilton son.

After arguing over the check and eventually just agreeing to share it, they walk home companionably. The wine makes him feel careless, content. The back of Toby’s hand brushes his once, surely by accident. When they reach the front doors of his building, Toby lingers. He stares at Adil, eyes flickering to Adil’s mouth then to his eyes. He leans in just little, and Adil thinks with his heart suddenly hammering he’s about to be kissed. But it never happens, as Toby jerks back looking instantly remorseful.

“I’m sorry.” He stutters out.

“It’s fine.” Adil says quickly, still after all these years unable to stand Toby apologizing for something that wasn’t entirely his fault.

It’s silent, Toby twisting his signet ring.

“Are you seeing someone?” Adil inquires softly, not sure if he actually wants the answer, then reprimanding himself because he shouldn’t care. Toby doesn’t meet his eyes, staring pointedly at the ground, so it means yes. Toby exhales heavily once before glancing at Adil.

“I don’t see why we can’t be friends.”

But they were never really friends, thinks Adil, not quite bitterly, but he nods anyway.

And Toby leaves on that note. Adil thinks he’ll never hear from Toby again, but a week later later he gets a little letter stating that Toby should be around in about a month for his mother’s birthday and if Adil could spare the time they could maybe meet for a drink.

\--

Then he does see Toby when he’s in town. It’s not often, maybe once a month if that. Inexplicably, he finds that they do become something like friends. Again, they meticulously avoid any talk of the past, instead focusing on their presents. Adil hates the Savoy, even if the pay is good, and Toby seems unbothered by his complaints and rants against the management. Toby waxes poetic about his research, and Adil listens politely, trying to follow as best he can. Adil learns things about Toby he'd never known before. He shares things as well, suddenly unfettered. They go for drinks, for walks along the Thames. Toby eventually tells him about the War Office, Adil mentions the trenches. Toby never touches him, even by accident, and Adil thinks that the axiom of never able to be friends with a past lover is maybe not always true.

One night when he walks Toby back to the Halcyon, Toby coughs self-consciously and mentions with a quick breath that things sort of fizzled out with the person he was seeing, it was casual anyway, and that he’d be back in London in a month for Christmas holidays.

\--

Adil finds himself counting down the days, not without a little bit of shame. But it’s the holidays, and light snow falls just before Christmas, putting everyone in good spirits. He meets Toby for a casual drink in a pub, and they get pleasantly tipsy before stumbling to his home. He’s snickering, falling slightly against Toby, enjoying the crunch of fine ice beneath his brogues. He loves the snow. He wants to tell Toby so.

“I- ”

And Toby kisses him, sliding his thumb along the stubble on Adil’s jaw. He staggers back just as suddenly, pupils blown open, blood draining from his face.

“I apolo-”

Adil kisses him back, pulling Toby towards him by the lapels. Toby resists for a second in utter disbelief, but quickly draws Adil closer and tangles a hand in Adil’s hair. It seems to occur to them both at the same time that they are in a very public area, and even if they aren’t directly under any street light they were surrounded by dimly lit windows. Adil has a choice to make; they could slink back in the darkness to their respective lives, pretend it was the beer. But he takes in Toby’s face, a spot of color high on his cheeks and lips a little bruised looking, and whispers “Upstairs?”

“Yes.” Toby hastily responds.

Adil fumbles a little with his key in the door. They’d taken the stairs up two at time, slightly breathless as they’d reached Adil’s flat on the third floor. Toby had pressed him into the wall twice, kissing Adil roughly, sucking on his bottom lip before Adil shoved him off, laughing and pulling him up the stair well. They all but fall into Adil’s room when he is finally able to get the door open, giggling a little and clutching at each other. Toby plucks at his clothes, and Adil obliges, wrenching off his coat, shirt, and sliding off his trousers while Toby does the same. He feels heady, reckless in a way he’s never felt before, tangling his hands in Toby’s hair and kissing him once before they both tumble down onto his small bed. But when his body hits the mattress, Toby doesn’t seem to be in so much of a rush anymore. He slides a hand languidly up Adil’s worn undershirt, sucks slow kisses along Adil’s neck and nibbles softly at his ear. They kiss for a long time, leisurely, his hands in Toby’s hair. Toby finally pulls Adil’s undershirt off, licks at Adil’s throat. He pulls back, takes in Adil’s body, eyes widening a little at the puckered skin just on the outside of Adil’s right bicep.

“You were hit.”

Adil pulls Toby down for a kiss. Maybe he will want to talk about things at some point, address bits and pieces from the past, but not right now. Right now he just wants to rememorize Toby’s body, the little pattern of tiny freckles stark against Toby’s pale chest, the silver scar on his stomach from when he got his appendix removed as a boy. He runs his hands down Toby’s chest, marveling again at the feel of Toby’s skin against his, gasping when Toby finally reaches down between them to palm Adil’s cock through his underwear. Toby kisses down Adil’s chest, and sucks a little mark into the crease of Adil’s hip before discarding Adil’s underwear in an easy fluid motion. He presses his lips to Adil’s inner thigh once before taking Adil’s length into his mouth. Adil does cry out a little at that; it’s been years since anyone has done this for him. He bites his lip. His new flat is nicer than his old one, but the walls are still fairly thin. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to touch Toby’s hair, like he used to, but it feels like too much and maybe he hasn’t earned it yet. So he keeps his hands fisted by his sides, measured, controlled. Except nothing about this is measured or controlled, and when Toby looks up at him questioningly and asks him if he’s sure he wants this he hears himself acquiescing, voice thick, heedless.

It’s strange, relearning someone else’s body after what feels like an aeon. There were things that felt familiar and things that didn’t. Toby’s face is the same, serious, intent. He always looked at Adil like that when they fucked, like Adil was another problem to solve, a code to thoughtfully break. But his body is elegant now, no more of that fumbling skittishness they had before, learning slowly how love each other. He isn’t rough or careless by any means, but casual, practiced as he works one finger into Adil then another. It’s not strange or bad, only different. But it reminds Adil how much things had stretched on.

Old pleasures also bring back old hurts but Adil brutally shoves them down, focusing instead of the feel of Toby inside him, moving slowly but intentionally. One of Toby’s hands is twined in his, the other stroking Adil’s cock in counterpoint to Toby’s thrusts. He’d never thought he’d be here like this again, eyes locked with Toby’s, Toby breathing out his name as he increases his pace. And that’s how Adil comes, his entire vision flooded by the dark of Toby’s eyes, eternal like the ocean on a moonless night. 

“Did I hurt you?” Toby asks while they are both still panting a little, Toby’s face buried in his neck.

Adil almost responds _didn’t I hurt you_ but realizes Toby is referring to the sex and not the past.

“No,” he murmurs, running a hand cautiously through Toby’s hair. Toby sighs a little and lurches up to a sitting position. He’s a little silent, cold as he starts to pull his clothes together. Toby has to head back and Adil knew this, but something still twists a little in his heart anyway. It’s quiet, only the rustle of Toby’s clothing audible in his flat. Adil reaches out and touches the little heart shaped mole under Toby’s shoulder blade, and Toby seems to flinch slightly.

He knew it couldn’t be that simple. He almost wants to laugh, if just at his sheer idiocy. He’s about to say so, apologize for all of it but Toby finally breaks the silence, refusing to turn around.

“I did try to find you. I went through all the records the War Office. I never did see your name, so at least I knew you were alive.” His voice sounds raw, pained. “Did you ever think of coming back?” His back is still to Adil, resolutely refusing to turn around.

There’s so much Adil wishes to give him, but he can’t give him that. And so he says nothing, his eyes pricking. He thinks about pulling Toby into him, but Toby’s dressed and he thinks better of it. Toby rises without saying much else to him, letting door slam a little on his way out. Adil scrubs his eyes with his hands roughly, willing himself to sleep. But it doesn’t come, not for a long time.

\--

On an abysmally gloomy day in November, 1945 he’d stood out in the alley by the back entrance for nearly an hour, contemplating whether he should go in or not. Every time he’d reached for the door he’d pulled back. The thing was, he knew the second he walked in through the doors, everything would be familiar but not, and all he’d see were ghosts. Tom was gone, killed in Normandy, and it ached every time Adil had thought of it. He’d gone to see Tom’s parents in Southampton at Tom’s request, held Tom’s mother’s hand as she’d stared through him, wan. He couldn’t help but wonder if they resented him a little, since he was the one who came home, but Tom’s mother only hugged him and touched his cheek gently. Tom’s family was kind, begged him to drop by any time he was in the area, as they knew Tom had loved him very much. Sonny and Betsey were touring in America. Mr. O’ Hara had left back to America as well, but not completely empty handed as he’d caught the eye of a pretty red-headed girl who incidentally enough was a sister of one of Freddie’s friends from school. So he never did reach for the door. Everyone he’d loved at that place was gone and he’d assumed that included Toby.

They’d written letters during the war, frequently at first and then more sporadically as war dragged on. And then one day the letters stopped entirely. He’d heard that letters were being intercepted, potential threats to security. He imagined that people in the War Office were probably banned from writing entirely, maybe for their own safety. Tom had rolled his eyes at him, told him to man up and just write to the girl he was so obviously and desperately pining for. But by then he’d assumed Toby had move on, was with someone better. He’d thought about writing after Armistice was declared, but could never bring himself to send the letter. War never discriminated in its destruction, and nearly everything, even a first love could be a casualty of it.

\--

Toby walks into the Savoy the night after next, looking bashful and contrite. Adil releases a slow breath, and slides a bourbon on the rocks towards him. Toby sits down heavily, watching Adil carefully as he takes a small sip of his drink.

“I’m sorry.” Toby manages, hand gripping his glass a little hard.

“For what part of it?”

Toby’s mouth twists a little at that, but Adil hadn’t been trying to be cruel.

“For the way I left.”

So not for the drinks, or the fucking. Toby looks morose, staring at his glass. Adil wishes he could close his eyes, press his temples. It ached then and it aches now, Toby hunched slightly, expression pained. The concierge is observing them with more intensity than Adil appreciates, and he makes a quick decision.

“I have a break in twenty minutes. Can you wait or do you need to leave?”

Relief floods Toby’s body, he straightens up a bit, and informs Adil that he can stay. As if none of this isn’t already enough, he pulls out a little book, putting methodical notes in the margins. The familiarity of it is palpable, nearly too much, and the minutes seem to drag by with Adil unable to do anything. A strand of hair somehow manages to escape Toby’s pomade, and Adil fights the muscle memory desire to tuck it back. Fortunately, a few more men arrive, and he gets back to his tasks. It makes the time pass a little quicker.

He meets Toby out back, just shy of the pale street light. Toby stares through him, crestfallen, touching his ring. What he wants to say is this: that whatever they were doing had gone on long enough, and what they had done was wonderful but also incredibly foolish and they should probably just stay friends.

Instead he presses his lips to Toby’s, glancing around once furtively to make sure no one is around. He nudges Toby back further into the shadows, holding Toby’s face with one hand, kissing him with more determination. He won’t be off his shift till late, so Toby meets him the next day at his flat, and they hardly say a word to each before Adil gently lowers Toby onto the bed, sears a kiss into the hollow of his throat.

\--

So it goes like that. They meet when Toby is in London, again, not terribly often. But Toby will stay on occasion, kiss him slowly awake in the morning. They were never once able to do this at the Halcyon, the risk always too great. It’s so strange to have now one of the the very things he so longed for in the past. He doesn’t take it granted though. Toby’s life is more or less permanently in Oxford, and his is at the Savoy until the management no longer values him. They both understood the impossibility of it, or so Adil thinks.

Surely bimonthly dalliances or an occasional stroll through the Covent Garden didn’t have to mean anything. Adil has done casual plenty of times since, and apparently so had Toby during the last few years. But it wasn’t as neat as all that. One night Adil wakes up screaming from the sound of machine gun fire in his dreams, and Toby had stroked his face, whispered to him until he was calm again. They never get around to talking about what they are or what they are doing, and Adil never broaches the subject, assuming the possibility of that conversation had passed years ago.

\--

One dreary afternoon in February Toby looks up from where his head is pillowed on on Adil’s shoulder, tracing idle patterns on the lines of Adil’s stomach. Something catches his eye, and he reaches over Adil’s body for the open red and gold envelope on Adil’s side table.

“A wedding invitation?”

“My sister’s.”

“My congratulations to her and your family. When is it?”

“About two months from now.”

Toby runs his fingers over the pretty mehendi patterns embellished on the invitation. He grins rakishly at Adil.

“Do you require a plus one? I could be free.”

His voice is light, clearly teasing, but Adil stiffens anyway. Toby stares at him, stricken.

“Christ, I was only joking.”

Adil closes his eyes and feels Toby twist away from him. Toby roughly pulls on his pants, his undershirt, and starts buttoning his shirt with clumsy, trembling hands. He’s nearly to the door when he abruptly turns around, body taut. Good. This is good. Adil wants him angry.

“What is this?” Toby spits, gesturing vaguely at Adil’s flat. Adil rises, pulls on his clothes, and faces Toby squarely. Toby’s got a bit of a height advantage, but Adil is scrappy and has always been decent if not good in a fight.

“I don’t know Toby.” He replies evenly, “But whatever it is we can’t keep doing it.”

Words are twisting in Toby’s mouth but he says nothing. He slumps a little, anger, fight suddenly gone out of him. It occurs to Adil, not for the first time, that this maybe wasn’t a fair match at all.  

“Is there someone else?”

Though Toby always knew how to disarm him.  

“No.” Adil answers softly after a beat, unable to face Toby. “It’s only you.”

“So that’s good.” Toby replies, voice bright, suddenly hopeful. 

“It’s not.”

It was almost as if Toby had neatly forgotten everything they had gone through. He’d wrecked Toby’s life spectacularly once, and he wasn’t about to do it again. It was a wound that apparently never healed, and he was unwilling to rip it open just to see if it would only scar and not fester this time around.

“What are you so afraid of, Adil?” Toby beseeches. 

“You should be with someone better.”

Toby's eyes snap to his, flaming. But it ebbs as quickly into something else, something softer as Toby silently observes him, as if he can see something Adil can't. Adil sighs, sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, holds his head in his hands. It feels like the last time. Like every time he’d ever broken Toby’s heart. 

The bed creaks almost comically as Toby all but collapses down next to Adil, careful to keep a space between them. 

“Look, I can’t promise you anything. I can't even promise you that there isn't anything to be afraid of. But it's you. It’s always been you. Couldn't that be enough?”

Toby's always been blunt, guileless.

“It's that easy then, Toby? We’ll honeymoon in the south of France, buy a little cottage down the lane with a white picket fence and raise a puppy?” They used to joke about that, whisper it to each other in Toby's bed, impervious to the world crumbling around them. Adil knows he sounds unkind, but he turns to Toby with a little smile. 

"Probably not." Toby retorts with a rueful little grin, but he shifts a little closer to Adil, mindful of maintaining the distance, eyes serious. He reaches out a tentative hand into No Man's Land, palm up, allowing Adil to take it if he should so choose. 

Adil had learned a lot of things during war. How to tie a tourniquet. How to comfort a dying man. And Toby Hamilton, it seemed, had learned perseverance. He places his hand on top of Toby's carefully, laces their fingers together. They sit like that in silence, until he finally coaxes Toby towards him. He’d managed to remain more or less dignified, but the second Toby's arms slide around his back the dam breaks and he sobs into the crook of Toby’s neck, for the grief and pain that he never allowed himself to weep over of the last five years.

“Do you really think any of this can end well?” he manages, words muffled in Toby's skin.  

A little sob escapes Toby's chest; it reverberates through Adil.

“Nothing is etched in stone Adil." So Toby was still a realist, underneath all that. "You can always change your mind about all of this, if you wish it.”

Adil never does.

\--

In two months Toby does accompany him to Manchester, though he insists on buying Toby’s ticket since Toby is his guest. Adil’s family is warm, and they instantly take to Toby who seems astounded to be welcomed so quickly. Dhani, sixteen now, likes him especially. He’s somewhat of a budding boffin himself, though he’s more interested in applied than theoretical maths and doesn’t hesitate in mentioning this to Toby. It’s a whirl of events, first the _sangeet_ and then the wedding the next day, but Toby seems to be enjoying it all. His sister manages to find a quiet moment with him, and they observe Toby easily chat with their father about cricket, which Adil had no idea Toby cared about.

“I like him _bhaiya_.” She says thoughtfully, sounding a little surprised.

He smirks.

“What, for an Englishman?”

“ _Tere liye_.” _For you_. She clarifies carefully, holding his eyes so that he cannot mistake her meaning.

He sucks in a breath and stares at her, unsure of how to even respond. 

“Oh don’t cry _bhaiya_ , it’s my day not yours.” Her tone is a little exasperated but she slips her arms around his neck like when they were kids, and embraces him hard before getting swept away by other duties.

Incredibly, in the end Toby somehow manages to give him most of it. In a month they’ll head to the south of France for two weeks, then maybe they’ll think about getting a cat because cats seem a little more fitted to their hectic schedules. Adil’s due to start working at the university Faculty Club, the nicest establishment in the area. It’s a bit of a pay cut, but he doesn’t mind. Between the two of them they can afford a humble, private little flat in Oxford village which is more than enough for now. People in the neighborhood keep to themselves mostly, and in a college town it's not so odd for single men to share a flat. 

In the morning Adil stands by the window, hands braced on the sill, watching their little world rise. In otherworldly grey green light of the dawn he can see it. Prying a book out of Toby's hands while he sleeps. His sister visiting, a tiny baby with bright eyes in tow. Toby pulling him back into into bed even though he's going to be late for a shift. Arms come around him then, drawing him back to the present, and Toby kisses the back of Adil’s neck. Adil leans back into him, inhaling the scent of Toby’s shampoo and cologne.

“Help me with my tie?”

Adil smiles and nods, letting Toby turn him around. He could never tire of this. 

‘You know,” Toby starts meditatively as Adil straightens the knot, “I think the world would be a much better place if everyone had someone pretty to fix their tie every morning. There would be no more war.”

Adil snorts a little, but his eyes are kind, warm.

“You think it’s that simple?”

Toby grins, already cupping Adil’s face with his hands and leaning in for a kiss.

“I do.”

 

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> I miss this show so much. 
> 
> bhaiya- older brother


End file.
